


Sweet Talk

by you_know



Category: Car Boys (Web Series), Coolgames Inc
Genre: M/M, Marijuana, Mildy Dubious Kissing Consent, Recreational Drug Use, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 10:36:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10683555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/you_know/pseuds/you_know
Summary: “Griffin’s heart thrummed and resonated like a plucked guitar string.” Things get complicated after a kiss during an impromptu visit to California. When Griffin and Nick are both used to getting their way, what happens when neither man knows what he really wants?





	Sweet Talk

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place in an ALTERNATE UNIVERSE and the characters are not in any way meant to be predictive of or descriptive of the actual human beings they share names with. Please do not mistake a harmless character exploration by a fan for anything having to do with two real people. Some quirks and similarities have been retained, but major alterations have been made to the characters and situations.
> 
> This story contains unprotected sex, but does not endorse or suggest it in real life. 
> 
> Thanks!

Sweet talking people into doing things had never been difficult for Griffin. 

Maybe it had been a necessary skill cultivated during a childhood with headstrong siblings, or maybe Griffin had been born with an innate talent for it. Either way, more often than not, he got his way and he got others to go with the flow. 

And that was okay. After all, Griffin always used his powers of persuasion for good.

Whether used to convince a team of people to help Griffin execute a bit for the show or to pitch a new web series to his bosses, the talent had served him well. People would find themselves following Griffin three towns over in a costume before they even questioned whether or not Griffin’s idea was a _good one_ —and that tended to work to his advantage. 

It had been a strange reversal, then, when Griffin met someone who was just as persuasive. 

Nick. 

Griffin was used to collaborating with people and with making the choice to go along with other people’s ideas. What he wasn’t used to was that moment of realization when, halfway through doing something utterly ridiculous, it dawned on him that he’d been talked into helping with a completely outlandish idea and he hadn’t even questioned it—he’d just followed blindly, smiling.

Such was the power of Nick Robinson. 

Usually it resulted in something _great_. The entire Car Boys series, for example, had been the result of Nick talking him into doing something more than a little offbeat.

When they were face to face, it ended in harmless but hilarious ideas like recording a Coolgames episode in a hot tub or singing karaoke in terrible Japanese in the middle of a nightclub.

And sometimes, Nick’s persuasive talents even resulted in very real plans—such as the flight Griffin took that April to go visit Nick for no real reason other than the fact that it had been too long, Nick said, since they had seen each other. 

\- - - 

_It’s stupid to be starstruck by your friend, right?_

(Maybe in another lifetime, Nick would’ve been self-assured enough to call Griffin his _best_ friend—but the term “best friends” seemed to indicate that the two parties were essentially equals. And Nick wasn’t sure if he’d ever get used to calling Griffin McElroy a _peer_.)

Being a fan of Griffin and his work was hardly something unique to Nick. It was just that Nick had managed to become a fan _and_ a coworker. He was lucky in that way. 

Things had gotten easier since day one, of course. He had plenty of time to work up to the idea that Griffin was just another person to collaborate with. It became even easier when he got to see behind the curtain and realized the sort of endless work Griffin put into his projects grinding away behind closed doors to prep and edit and put out the best content he could.

Yes, Nick still thought about Griffin… basically all the time—and yes, when Nick prepped for shows and when they recorded together, the only thing he thought about was how to make Griffin laugh, how to cause that delighted laughter to come bubbling out of him. 

But. But! _Some_ of the excitement had eroded since they started working together. He wasn’t a _total_ fan boy. The novelty wore off. That was probably for the best. Nick would always be delighted to work with Griffin, but it was more productive to think of him as nothing more than another friend and coworker. 

That carefully practiced thinking, though, utterly derailed any time Nick had a chance to see Griffin in person. 

He could almost brace himself for it now.

_Almost._

When Griffin came to San Francisco that April, Nick was starstruck all over again. 

He’d driven to pick his friend up from the airport and on the drive there, all Nick could think was _“I can’t believe Griffin is here. I can’t believe he’s staying with me. I can’t believe he’s my fucking friend.”_

It was tough to project chill aloofness when you were internally screaming about the fact that your hero was about to be close enough to touch. 

(And God, it was so much harder to _not_ think about touching Griffin when he was actually there, physically, in the meatspace and looking so casually handsome. When he smiled, Nick’s heart threatened to stop forever. It made him feel like he’d missed the last step in a flight of stairs—but Nick wouldn’t mind existing eternally in that abrupt moment of falling if it meant he could look at Griffin’s smile for as long as he’d like.) 

When Griffin arrived in San Francisco on Thursday evening, he looked exhausted but lit up the minute he saw Nick walking towards him in the airport terminal. 

“Hey Nick,” he said with a smile, pulling his friend into a tight hug. 

There was never any back-slapping machismo between them with Griffin. Only earnest tenderness and authenticity sandwiched in between soft-spoken conversations and jokes. It felt good to hug him. It had been too long.

“Hey, man. Easy flight?” Nick asked when they finally parted. His face already hurt from smiling.

“Easy as hell.” 

It always shocked Nick how Griffin’s banter fell away when he wasn’t recording. Though they texted and messaged often enough during the day—every day—when they talked in real time it was normally before and after they were recording. That meant that when they spoke, they were often hyping themselves up to record or were coming down off the high of performing together for a sustained period of time.

But in times like these, when there was no recording or imminent performance, Griffin was quieter, his voice deeper. Of course he wouldn’t be “on” all the time.

“Are you hungry?” Nick asked. “Do you want to go eat somewhere tonight, or try and see that—”

“Actually? I am _bushed_ , dude,” Griffin said. “We could pick up some shitty burgers on the way back to your place and I wouldn’t complain.” 

“Shitty burgers sounds great,” Nick agreed. 

—- 

Nick was goddamned adorable and it was immediately frustrating to be in his vicinity.

It was easy to forget how different Nick In Person was from Nick Online—especially when Griffin encountered Nick Online for 99% of their friendship. And Griffin enjoyed Nick Online, don’t get him wrong. Nick Online was a funny, handsome, smart version of Nick. 

But Nick In Person was like suddenly seeing the rainbow when you’d only ever seen primary colors before. When Nick wasn’t in careful control of his _brand_ through Boomerang loops and Tumblr reblogs, he was infinitely more endearing. Griffin could actually read his emotions and see when he blushed, how he reacted to a joke or a story. He was always quicker to smile than Griffin remembered. 

They settled into Nick’s tiny apartment with bags of burgers and it was perfection to sit there in his living room, enjoying a junky dinner and talking about nothing in particular. Conversation flowed easily—it always did, whether the mics were on or off—and it meandered until they were showing each other videos on their phones.

“This is stupid. Let’s go to my computer,” Nick said as the battery on his phone died. 

So they relocated, tossing their burger bags and then falling into Nick’s bedroom where he brought up the tragically hilarious vocaloid video he’d been trying to show Griffin. 

Griffin started yawning far too early as the night stretched on. The time change from Austin to SF shouldn’t have been particularly brutal, but the stress of flying had always done weird things to him. He realized he was keeping up his end of the conversation less and less.

“Hey, Griffin.” 

Nick said it in the tone of voice that always meant Griffin was about to get talked into something ridiculous. 

Griffin was no more immune to Nick’s powers of persuasion face-to-face than he was when they were apart, though. That was how, fifteen minutes later, Griffin found himself holding a large, colorful bong. 

\- - - 

Maybe Nick shouldn’t have even brought it up. 

Griffin had given him a hard time when he first mentioned smoking weed on the show, but Nick’s newfound extracurricular activity did wonders for his anxiety—and as much as he was enjoying spending time with Griffin, he was absolutely an anxious mess on the inside. Was he laughing _too_ hard at every joke Griffin made? Was Griffin actually comfortable in the cramped apartment, or was he just being polite? 

Anything that would stop Nick’s second guessing was a welcomed change.

Nick rolled the dice and decided to ask. 

And Christ, who _didn’t_ want to know what Griffin McElroy would be like high? 

With most of Nick’s local friends, asking if they wanted to smoke was a no-brainer—the same as asking someone if they wanted a beer. But it had taken a little more bravery than that for Nick to ask Griffin if he might want to smoke a bowl.

Griffin had laughed hard—really fucking hard—at the question before shrugging and letting out a casual, “Yeah, sure.” 

Because of course he was going to. Because Griffin always humored Nick, was down for whatever stupid thing he wanted them to do together. 

But once Nick had swapped out the gross bong water, packed the bowl, and passed the whole thing over to Griffin, it looked like his friend might change his mind.

Griffin frowned, looking from the bong to the lighter, then back to the bong, then back at Nick. 

“Nick…” 

“This isn’t a peer pressure situation, Griffin. You _really_ don’t have to smoke if you don’t want to—”

“It’s not even _that_. This whole setup just seems, like, really coordination-heavy. I have no idea how to use this thing.” 

Nick puffed a laugh through his nose and shook his head. “I can help you, if you want.” 

“Yes. Please.” 

Nick came to sit crosslegged on the floor directly across from Griffin where he leaned against the foot of Nick’s bed. Their bare knees touched as Nick reached across his lap for the piece.

“I feel like we’re setting up for some sort of trust exercise at this point,” Griffin said, smiling. 

“I mean, it kind of is?” 

\- - -

This was so dumb. So so _so_ dumb. 

Not the drugs part—that was fine. It was _whatever_. Griffin couldn’t have cared less about the drugs part. 

But the way he was reacting to the situation was dumb. Dramatically dumb. Really, really dumb. 

His heart was thudding hard in his chest, as if something was going to happen between them just because they were laughing together and sitting close and doing something vaguely bad (even though Nick had assured him that what they were doing was _hella_ legal in California). They were about to share stupid fucking bong rips, not start necking. 

_Get a fucking grip_ , he told himself. 

It was probably just the muscle memory evoked from sitting on someone’s bedroom floor at midnight. How many times had Griffin done shit like this in high school and college? You went to hang out with someone you had a crush on and you hoped that somehow the _hang sesh_ would go down in such a way that it ended with you getting smooched. 

So, yeah, his heart was thumping erratically and he was reacting to Nick’s proximity on a weird, visceral level—but _only,_ he told himself, because this was so similar to all of those nights when he’d been younger and enjoying the rush of _liking someone_ and hoping they liked you back.

It had nothing to do with Nick himself. It had nothing to do with anything. 

Nick’s knees pressed harder into Griffin’s and their bodies were close together. Griffin was acutely aware of Nick’s physical presence, the depth of his chest and torso, the way his posture went slack when he was concentrating. Nick chuckled softly and reached out, putting his hand over Griffin’s where he held the bong. 

“First off, you’re gonna want to turn this around so we don’t singe off your eyebrows,” Nick said, guiding him to spin the glass piece. 

“I told you I didn’t know how to use a bong, dude. Don’t make fun.” 

“I know,” Nick said quickly, his voice high and friendly. “No judgments. I’m here to educate.”

“Jesus,” Griffin said, shaking his head. “You’re like the _worst_ influence.” 

“I think you mean I’m just the worst in general,” Nick corrected. 

“Right, no, that too.” 

“I’m going to light this and then you suck.” 

Griffin nodded, deciding not to make the obvious _sucking_ joke, and he watched as Nick flicked the lighter on. Griffin did as he was told, sucking on the mouthpiece as Nick moved the lighter. But the water didn’t bubble like Griffin expected to and as he pulled, he didn’t get any smoke. Griffin sat back, knowing he’d fucked it up somehow and annoyed at how complicated the whole affair was becoming.

“Can’t you, like, roll a joint like a normal disgusting drug user?” 

“No. I have no idea how to do that,” Nick said with a smile. “You have to put your mouth over the whole mouthpiece so you actually get suction.” 

“You put your lips _around_ this whole goddamn thing?”

“No, Christ, you don’t _fellate_ it Griffin. You just sort of… you know, you get your mouth in there and seal up the whole opening and then you suck.” 

“That’s revolting,” Griffin said, passing the piece back over to Nick. “Let me watch you do it once.”

“I was trying to give you the green hit—“

“Yeah, no, I get it, stoner code or whatever. Cool. I just have no understanding of how the fuck any of this works,” Griffin said. “I need to watch you.”

Nick laughed but proceeded, setting up the hit, drawing smoke into the chamber with one bubbling suck, pulling the bowl out with a flourish, and then drawing the hit into his lungs. 

“God, that looks badass,” Griffin said in an awed voice.

“Really?” Nick asked, half coughing out the word as he attempted to keep the hit in.

“No dude, you look like the first half of an after-school special,” Griffin said through a smile. “Drugs are shitty.” 

“So shitty,” Nick said, nodding and finally exhaling. “You got it now?” 

“Totally not at all,” Griffin admitted. 

Nick laughed, couldn’t suppress a smile. “Do you want me to just set a hit up for you and pass it over?” 

“Yes, _finally_ , thank you,” Griffin said, nodding. 

\- - -

By the time they were done and Nick was putting his paraphernalia away, he could almost feel his muscles uncoiling, and he realized he’d been clenching his teeth for hours. 

He took a deep breath and smiled. When he looked over at Griffin, his friend was smiling too, legs still crossed and back resting gently against the foot of Nick’s bed.

Nick was hit, suddenly, with the memory of being a teenager, the thrill of doing something you weren’t supposed to and how that feeling was always made richer when you were joined by someone you liked. The moment with Griffin was one of pure, unexpected bliss—bold but steady. It felt like they were sitting there on the first night of summer vacation, with weeks of happiness and no responsibilities spread out before them.

Of course it was just a weird deja vu. They were adults and they truly had shit to do. There was no such thing as summer vacation anymore—even if Griffin gave him that same impossibly satisfied, excited feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

The anxiety and doubts from before had melted away. 

In a moment of now-or-never teenaged boldness mixed with the “everything sounds like a good idea” feeling of being high, Nick did something he never thought he’d be brave enough to do. 

He flopped down onto the floor and put his head in Griffin’s lap.

Nick had seen friends and coworkers be touchy with Griffin at events, and although Griffin didn’t _initiate_ touch a lot, he always seemed to gladly accept it. This time was no different. Nick waited for him to make a joke about the contact or even find some excuse to stand up, but instead he smiled down at Nick for a moment and then slouched back against the bed like nothing was out of the ordinary.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into smoking with you.” 

This view of Griffin—from below, so close with his head thrown back, a look of pleasure on his face—was enough to make Nick lose his mind. What a goddamned vantage point. He shut his eyes quickly before his thoughts could wander.

“That’s not hard for me to believe even a little bit,” Nick said.“This is like… Spring Break: Griffin Gone Wild.”

“Right. I come to San Fran and as my drug and leisure mentor, you teach me all of the things I missed out on in college.” 

Nick chuckled. “Sounds like a good flick, actually.”

“Dude it sounds like _the dopest_ flick.” 

\- - -

All was right with the world. 

The buzz Griffin had wasn’t that different from the way he might feel after two stiff drinks, but it didn’t come along with the vague seasickness that drinking two shots back to back would’ve brought. 

Instead, as the high sank in and blossomed, Griffin felt relaxed and still. All of the nagging doubts—the running commentary in the back of his mind at all times—was quieted. 

The warm weight of Nick’s head in his lap was comforting and somehow familiar. He leaned back against the bed, letting his gaze drift toward the ceiling and then threading his fingers through Nick’s hair.

_God_ , it was just as soft as he’d imagined it would be.

He’d always admired the fact that Nick could get away with such a cool haircut. The asymmetric hair would look truly tragic on Griffin—but on Nick it simply worked _._

The tactile stimulation of running his fingers through Nick’s hair was doing things to his brain, like ASMR tingles but warmer and better. The last time he’d smoked in college, he’d just felt foggy and sleepy. 

_But_ ** _this_** _is nice,_ he thought as he moved to drag his fingertips over the buzzed portion of Nick’s hair _._

“We should probably smoke before we record a Coolgames at some point,” Griffin said.

“That’s a really bad idea,” Nick said. 

“It’s a _very good_ idea.”

“Besides, unless we were recording in my apartment, who would light your bong for you?” Nick asked. When Griffin looked down, there was a teasing smile on his face. 

“That’s true,” Griffin said. “You _are_ my bong director.”

“Also, like, what would the point even be if I didn’t get someone to run their hands through my hair?” 

“Yeah, man.” Griffin worked his hand idly across Nick’s scalp, appreciating the sensation of hair slipping between his fingers. Was it easier to concentrate on sensation when he was stoned, or was Nick’s hair actually a little magical?

“Are you having a moment?” Nick teased, as if he could read Griffin’s mind.

“I’m just, like—“ Griffin said, his words getting in the way as he tried to actually explain himself. “Your hair is _sensational_.”

Nick suppressed a laugh. “Mhm?” 

“Don’t fuckin’ _mhm_ me, you know you have very good hair,” Griffin said in mock offense. “This is like a real journey up here, with the long side and then you move over to the short side—“

“The short side feels like a puppy.”

“It feels exactly like a puppy, dude!” Griffin said, laughing in agreement. “This whole situation up here just feels very good.” 

“To be fair, it feels very good down here.” 

“That’s good news, Nick, because I can’t foresee a time when I’m gonna want to stop _strokin’ this ‘do_.” 

Nick laughed appreciatively and then shifted in Griffin’s lap. 

“Really it’s bad news because I need to get up.” 

“Aw, Nick—“ 

“Just, let me—“ 

And then Nick was moving, sitting up, and Griffin was pushing him down, pretending to protest. Nick laughed and shook his head and _blushed_ —Christ he blushed the deepest color of red. Finally he won the fake scuffle, coming to sit almost hip-to-hip with Griffin on the floor. 

“I’m heartbroken,” Griffin teased, looking down at his palms. “Now what am I supposed to do with my hands?” 

“Hey. Griffin.”

When he looked up, Nick’s face was closer than he expected. His lips were parted just so, the flush still high on his cheeks. Nick’s eyes darted down—settling on Griffin’s lips for one half of a half second—and when he looked back up, there was a question in his eyes. 

Griffin’s smile disappeared. The breath stilled in his lungs as he tilted his chin up and closed his eyes. 

Nick kissed him—and maybe on a different timeline, in a different universe, Griffin would’ve been surprised or taken aback or confused. But there on the floor of Nick’s bedroom, the kiss felt like the most natural thing that could’ve happened between them. The kiss was suddenly the thesis statement of their whole relationship, the thing they’d both been waiting to happen without knowing. 

It wasn’t a question or a proposition or the opening of a door to something else. It was the realization of something that had been there all along, had been proved since the first time they spoke.

Griffin’s heart thrummed and resonated like a plucked guitar string. 

_Ah, yes. This._

He’d been waiting for it without knowing that he was waiting for anything at all—because the moments in waiting had been perfect in themselves. He didn’t want to kiss Nick because he was curious about exploring something new. He opened to Nick, tangled his fingers through his hair, because it was simply an affirmation of what had been there all along. 

Kissing Nick was perfect and from the first instant, Griffin wondered what had taken them so long.

\- - -

Nick’s world stopped spinning. 

He could hardly believe he’d gotten himself to do it. Nick was so good at talking people into things that he’d actually talked _himself_ into kissing Griffin.

Nick meant it as… well, fooling around. As much as _he_ wanted it, Nick never thought Griffin would take it seriously. 

Christ, he’d even prepared the exact joke he’d deliver after Griffin inevitably rejected him and pulled back in disgust. 

_“Oh, sorry Griffin—I just thought we were doing all of the things you missed out on in college like learning to use a bong and kissing guys…”_

But the moment didn’t come. 

And Griffin kissed Nick back like it was something profound—slow and committed. Griffin kissed him like the kiss had given him a renewed purpose in life, and even though Nick had been the one to start it, he found that he was shocked and thrilled and completely unsure of himself as the kiss continued, as it deepened, as he felt Griffin’s hand on the back of his neck. 

Griffin was soft and responsive, his mouth slick and hot. 

Finally they broke for air but didn’t pull away. Griffin held him by the neck and so they parted only enough to breathe, foreheads still touching. 

Griffin started to say something and Nick panicked. They couldn’t start talking about anything, couldn’t put the moment into words or it would disappear and it would be like waking up from the best dream of his life—and so Nick’s hands flew to either side of Griffin’s head and he kissed him again, pulling their bodies closer, committing to the kiss desperately. 

Whatever Griffin had been about to say was transformed into a soft moan. The little noise would’ve been enough to _break_ Nick under other circumstances but now he was concentrated on keeping their momentum. He let his mind disappear in the pillowy-soft slide of their lips moving together and the searing heat of Griffin’s mouth, the way that the kiss had Nick’s blood rushing so fast through his body that it felt like something had cracked open inside of him. 

Nick caught Griffin’s bottom lip between his teeth and applied the slightest pressure. Griffin made a noise like his world was ending—the type of sound he’d make for comedic effect when they were recording a bit. 

But this wasn’t a bit. One little nip and Griffin was moaning. 

That tantalizing reality spurred Nick forward, making him bolder, and he kissed Griffin’s jaw, moving further down until he was dragging the tip of his tongue against the skin where jawline met neck. 

It earned him another porn-star moan, and by the second lick, Griffin had twisted his fist tight in the front of Nick’s old band t-shirt. 

“ _Jesus_ , Nick.” 

Griffin had said his name a thousand times that year. How often had Nick tried to imagine what his name would sound like on Griffin’s lips in a situation _just like this_? How much sweeter was it in reality than it had ever been in Nick’s imagination? 

He pulled Griffin closer by his waist, returning to his mouth—but then they were tangled, Griffin breaking as he changed position to face Nick. Halfway up on his knees, Griffin picked up just where they’d left off, crashing into a kiss that seemed to go hungry and rough. The cool frames of his glasses pressed into Nick’s skin and he almost winced at the unfamiliar feeling. Griffin noticed, breaking and sitting back. 

He pulled off his glasses, set them on the bed, and smiled at Nick. 

Nick was starstruck in spite of himself, the rush of adrenaline and pleasure washing through him with a shock like cold water. He cared so much for Griffin and—

Griffin was kissing him again, leaning more weight on him, and Nick lost track of himself. He gave into the current between them, electric and alive. Griffin was practically in his lap but it wasn’t difficult to get his hands between their bodies. Nick fumbled for the hem of Griffin’s shirt and was surprised to find soft, bare skin there instead. Griffin gasped like he’d been burned and shuddered, leaning in.

They’d gotten Griffin’s shirt raked halfway up his torso as they struggled for a better position, and touching his naked skin, hearing his breath, suddenly grounded Nick in the moment. 

He had his tongue in Griffin’s goddamn mouth and he’d just run his hand over the soft skin of his stomach. His friend. His recording partner. Who _he’d talked into smoking_.

_What the fuck am I doing?_

Nick reeled. He’d invited Griffin to stay with him for… what? So that they could share a close proximity, Nick could pressure him into getting high, and then Nick could make a move on him? 

_What the fuck was I thinking?_

Griffin was stoned for the first time in years, probably, and Nick had chosen _that_ exact moment to kiss him. 

It was stupid and it wasn’t fair and he’d taken advantage of his friend.

There was no way Griffin would’ve been into this if they were both sober. 

\- - -

Nick pulled away abruptly and it was like all of the oxygen was gone from the room.

“What’s wrong?” 

The moment—whatever it had been—was utterly over. 

Nick wouldn’t even meet his eyes. “We shouldn’t be doing this.” 

“What? Why? What the fuck?” Griffin asked, reaching for his abysmally smudged glasses. For a moment, he thought Nick was making some sort of joke but no punchline came. Nick’s frown was like a door slamming in Griffin’s face. 

Despite the interruption, Griffin was tenting his pants and he pressed the palm of one hand awkwardly against his crotch—as if that was going to help a damn thing—as he waited for an explanation as to why Nick had just cut short one of the most truly magical moments of Griffin’s life.

“I’m sure you’re super exhausted,” Nick said. He got to his feet. “There are some clean towels for you in the bathroom. I’m gonna go crash on the couch.” 

Inconvenient boner be damned, Griffin scrambled up to follow him as he walked away. 

“Nick— _towels?_ —what the hell? What did I do?” 

Nick turned and shook his head. “Nothing. I just shouldn’t have kissed you.” 

“Um? Why?” Griffin asked, exasperated. “You didn’t force yourself on me—“ 

“You’re high as hell, Griffin. There’s a consent component here that’s, like, _really_ not working for me.” 

“I’m not _that_ high. Jesus. I’m consenting—you have my consent,” Griffin said, reaching for Nick, wanting to take him by the front of the shirt again and drag him into another kiss. They’d only just gotten started and Nick wanted out? 

You didn’t get to give someone a life-altering, heart-stopping kiss and then just halfway through decide that it was the wrong thing to do. Even if they _were_ high, it was clear as goddamned day to Griffin that _there was something there._

Gently, Nick took Griffin’s hand and lowered it before taking a step back to put more space between them. His eyes looked forlorn but he was smiling. 

“It’s okay. You don’t have to,” Nick said in a soft tone, as if he was permitting Griffin to skip a loathsome chore. “I shouldn’t have made you smoke.” 

And just like that, it was over. 

Griffin was shattered. 

Before he could argue, Nick flicked the living room light off. From his vantage point in the hallway, Griffin could hear him settle on the couch.

He was torn between respecting Nick’s decision and railing at him, demanding more of an explanation, wanting to know why Nick had kissed him in the first place if, in the end, he thought it was somehow the wrong thing to do. 

You didn’t just kiss someone by accident. _Not like that._

Maybe Griffin had done something wrong somehow—something that made Nick change his mind about kissing him. 

Or maybe Nick _was_ really just bothered about the consent gray area they’d been approaching.

In the end, Griffin decided that it would be useless to try and talk to Nick that night, tired and high and as confused as he’d been as a teenager. Instead, Griffin returned to Nick’s room, flicking off the lights, slipping out of his clothes, and getting into the unfamiliar bed that his friend was giving up for him while he was in town. 

Only then, curled on his side, did Griffin notice how strange the sounds of San Francisco at midnight were to him—how the angles of light and dark in the room seemed disorienting and _off,_ and the way that the pillowcase smelled vaguely like Nick. 


End file.
